


Things to Learn, Things to Unlearn

by Finnspiration



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: M/M, Poe is subtle--too subtle, Stormpilot, Sweet, and Finn has a lot to learn, handholding too, kisses only, lots to learn..., slow growth of a relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-28
Updated: 2016-04-28
Packaged: 2018-06-05 00:47:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6682717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Finnspiration/pseuds/Finnspiration
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The First Order taught Finn a lot of negative things about himself and the universe.  He has so much to catch up on, figuring out whoever he’s meant to be.  And why he can’t stop thinking about his friend Poe.  And why the world seems to stop when they look at each other...</p><p> </p><p>  <b>Finn/Poe</b></p><p>In this story, R2D2 doesn’t reactivate immediately and Finn, Poe, and Rey all have to adjust to life at the Resistance Base before searching out Luke Skywalker.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Things to Learn, Things to Unlearn

**Author's Note:**

> In which Finn needs help figuring things out but is too embarrassed to ask for help. The First Order is racist. Rey is angry and hungry and good. Finn loves Rey but not _that way._ Finn isn't sure if men are allowed to feel _that way_ about other men. Holochess appears, briefly. Poe is awkward and sweet. And Finn can't lisp.

_~11,000 words - heat level: low_

 

**Things to Learn, Things to Unlearn**

 

by Finnspiration 

 

 

When Finn woke up, it felt like the world had moved on without him.  Who was he, now that he had no important jobs to do (training to become a stormtrooper; rebelling against that training to become a mere person on the run; trying to save a dear friend; fighting for his life--and then dying.  

Except he hadn’t died.  He’d woken up, after some indefinable amount of time that felt everlasting and dark.

There had been no dreams, or if there had been, he’d forgotten.  Just a feeling of being suspended, and he had thought that was what death must be like.  He didn’t know much about death, not really.  Some people had beliefs about what happens after a person dies, if anything.  The training he’d received had always minimized such belief systems and often mocked them.  

It was a surprise to realize he was only in a coma, not dead after all.  It still felt like coming back to life after being dead, to him.

It was so strange: the world had moved on.  It needed nothing from him, except that he rest, and take pain medication, and slowly hobble back to health.

It was odd to him, so very odd, to sleep in a soft bed, to have no one shouting at him or punishing him for hesitating or ordering him to do things at top of their lungs.

It was very odd not to have his rigid schedule, the one with the marching and the armor, training, practice, workouts, Education Vids, and regimented waking and sleeping times.  He’d always been surrounded by people like himself, eaten what they’d eaten, slept when ordered, did what he was told--till the wild rebellion of freedom, to save his life, to save the pilot’s life.

He’d run, and run, and run: and then run back to save the girl, the sweet-faced tough girl he’d met, the one Poe would have wanted him to help, and then the one he loved for her own true goodness.  She looked at him like he was real.  In a short time, he’d gone from one cog in a giant machine, someone whom nobody really cared if he lived or died, to a person with a name of his own, choices of his own, and friends of his own.

He’d loved them dearly, enough to die for.  But how did he live, now that the catastrophes were past, the worst had happened, and he was somehow still here, just recovering slowly?

There were too many choices to be made: not just one meal that everyone ate when they were told, not just one bed time.  Not just one job.

Now that he wasn’t running for his life, or desperately needed to help with something, what did he do?  How did he choose?

Rey came to see him the first time he woke up.  She held his hand; tears slipped down her cheeks.  She was so beautiful he wanted to cry, too.  He hadn’t known there was such fierce goodness in the galaxy.  Her eyes were so clear, there was no badness in her at all.  When she looked at him like an equal, a friend, a trusted partner, he loved her more than he’d ever loved anyone.  She made him want to be the best person he could possibly be, to be half as worthy as the person she saw when she looked at him.

He loved her so much.  He sometimes wanted her all for himself, so she looked only at him.  Mostly, he wanted to share her with the world so she could be wild and free and never, never go back to a desert world and be hungry all the time.

He understood being hungry all the time.  He saw it when she ate, had from the first time.  It was hunger he felt all the time, but not for food.  For someone to look at him like he had value.  He hadn’t even known he was hungry for that, and why hadn’t he?  It was strange to realize so many things about himself and for the first time, too.

He’d always been a bit of a rebel, but his rebellions had been small and private--eyerolls, private scoffs, whispered jokes with his friends during the Education Vids and training courses.  Puns, mostly.  Finn loved puns.

And his name.  He loved his name.  To have a name...it felt so special, so _real_.  

He could never be as confident and strong and perfect as Poe Dameron.  That beautiful strong cocky and kind man, who had looked at him and laughed and liked him, who had encouraged him and named him and given him a jacket.

And when that jacket was long gone--destroyed by the dark side and Kylo Ren’s lightsaber--he still had Poe, Poe’s smile and sweet dark gaze, looking at him and believing in him, laughing and kind and real.  

Sometimes when he thought about Poe, he wanted to smile for no reason, but it was such a private and embarrassed feeling, he tried not to think about it when anyone else was around.

 _You would think I’d have learned to train my face not to show feelings by now_ , he sometimes thought, dismayed when emotions slipped out too readily and too strongly.  

They always had: even when he took the pills regular as clockwork, like all of them, he’d still have emotions.  But now...now there were so many more of them, messy and loud and intense.  The fear and terror of his first battle.  The horror of the slaughter afterwards.  The knowledge that he would die if he didn’t run...and running, running, being afraid and overjoyed and alive, so very alive.

It was frightening being alive sometimes.  

There were so many things to decide, and nothing had really prepared him for most of them.

When they went to the cafeteria, the three of them, when he was finally walking on his own and off most of the pain pills, but still slow and awkward on his feet, and tiring easily, he had stood in line with them, his friends, his dearly loved friends, each of them holding a tray.  Rey and Poe had been talking about something complicated and technical about ships; he’d tuned them out and studied the rows of food with growing dismay.

There were so many different sorts of people in the Resistance Base on D’Qar, and he loved that--he did--it meant a lot to him to see people with different skin colors and from different planets all treated the same.  

But there were so many kinds of food, too.

How did he know what to pick?

Rey caught his dismayed gaze, before he could even choose his words.  “Don’t worry,” she said in her soft but precise accent, the words clear to his ears as running water and soft, sweet sunshine.  “It’s all edible for humans.  I’ve asked.”

Now Poe looked at him too, that assessing, friendly look that held a smile in his eyes.  “You can pick whatever you want, Finn,” he said.  

Finn looked at him, then the food, and faked a smile.  “Yep.  Whatever I want.  Whew!  Nice change from the First Order.”  He wiped fake sweat off his forehead, making it into a joke.  “We ate food cubes and rehydrated bread and meat there almost every day.”

Rey nodded seriously, a fervent look in her eyes.  She knew what it was like to eat the same meal every day, and not enough of it.

But it hadn’t been like that for Finn.  He’d always had enough to eat; there was even a little variety.  It just wasn’t like this, where he had to choose.  It was three or four meals varied through the week, and sometimes no meals at all if they were being punished.  But never this paralyzing array of choices.

He eyed it again helplessly.  

“Well, you can have as much as you want now,” said Rey, very firmly, conviction in her voice and a fierce hunger.  She started down the line, filling her plate with this, that, another thing: colorful foods, with different textures and smells.  She knew what she wanted, even if it was something she’d never tried before.  Even if it was something totally foreign: she wasn’t afraid of anything.

At that moment, Finn felt like he could have wept.  The line of foods intimidated him so much; he was going to fail, or be sick, or make a fool of himself, the way he felt like he did so often by just not understanding how things worked.  

If someone told him what to do, at least he could just obey or refuse.  He did well at the hospital because of this.  He worked hard to get better, obeying the instructions on his rehab exercises to the letter, because it was better than being dead, and he wanted to get well, and really, the pain wasn’t so bad when they gave him lots of pain pills for it.  He hadn’t had pain pills before, not for anything, so it was a big change.

It was strange because when he first heard about pain pills...he’d thought it meant something else.  He’d been terrified they’d give him some one day as a punishment, and make him feel pain just from swallowing a pill.

It was only when he was older and knew more about the universe that he understood pain pills and painkillers were things that blocked the body’s ability to feel so much pain.

It wasn’t something they punished you with, like a beating or a force choke.  It was something to make you feel better.  That had felt so foreign to him, such a relief…

And to actually have them, well, it made the shameful need to recover and grow strong so much more tolerable.  He didn’t have to hurt constantly even though his body was weak and damaged.  And they were helping him get well and strong again, instead of laughing at him or getting rid of him for good.  

If they said he was a model patient, he still could hardly believe his luck that everyone was so decent to him.

And at mealtimes, he got a meal given to him--he didn’t have to pick it.  He ate whatever they gave him and never complained, even if he felt queasy on it.

But now...today...picking his food for the first time...he felt like he might fall down and faint.  Just one final rock that proved too much for the tauntaun’s back.  

“Hey.”  Poe nudged his shoulder, reclaiming all of his attention.  Rey’s purposeful walk, determined dishing, and confidence held no part of his brain power.  Now he was only aware of Poe.

It often worked that way.  Poe could fill up his brain, the way he filled up a room with his magnetic presence.  Immediately, Finn felt less panicked.

Poe’s smile reassured him.  “How about I suggest some of my favorites and you give it a try?  You can always be adventurous later.”

“Yeah.  Good.”  He cleared his throat.  “Later.”  Why did he have to be so awkward about this?  Why couldn’t he just admit he had no idea what he was doing and needed help?  

_But I need help with so much already, how can I keep asking for more?_

Poe headed down the line first, conversational, telling him about his favorite dishes, taking some of each.  

Finn followed along, nodding, listening and trying to memorize, to mimic exactly how much of everything Poe took, and what he called it.  

If he could stand this food, and remember it all, he wouldn’t have to be adventurous for some time to come.  They all sat down to eat together, the three of them.  

Rey ate with a singleminded purpose.  She had a great hunger in her, from growing up on a world without much food or water.  She had already filled out a little, her hungry frame looking stronger these days.  Her chest was a little softer looking, her eyes less hungry, and her arms and legs looked muscular and strong.

She had always been strong, but he thought she was finally starting to _look_ stronger, too.  She looked good to him: not heavy, not hungry, but the perfect middle ground, where she worked hard and ate a lot and never got so hungry she could want to cry.

That was one thing she’d told him, one very brave thing she’d shared with him, because Rey was always brave, and she loved and trusted him the way he loved and trusted her.

“When I was little, I used to cry myself to sleep when I couldn’t earn enough to eat,” she’d told him, just like that, brave even about her weakness and sorrow.  “It’s so amazing to actually have enough to eat, all the time.”

She’d also shared that she didn’t always believe it; she always kept a little something with her overnight, in case she got hungry, or there was no breakfast after all.  

“It’s not that I think they’ll take away the food, I just, I don’t know, I feel safer if I have a food bar or a piece of bread or something under my pillow.”

He’d nodded like he understood, but he didn’t, not really.

He’d always had enough to eat, for as long as he could remember, except on punishment days or when he was too sick to want it anyway.

Being sick was dangerous for a stormtrooper in training.  You were alone in the barracks, and you recovered.  Or you didn’t.

One year when they were all not quite as tall as adults yet, a bad sickness had torn through the barracks, and so many of them had been ill, coughing and retching.  They had sent doctors at last, but it had been too late for some of them…

He remembered bodies his size, carted off by men in masks, and then nothing for a while, and eventually, he had gotten stronger and most of them were still alive, and nobody ever talked about the ones who died.

It was bad, though, so bad…

It gave him bad dreams still, sometimes, the way he sometimes dreamed of fire and burning and the screams of villagers who weren’t from that first, awful battle, the one where he’d refused to kill, but something older and more personal, a dream that felt real, that had talons in the childhood he didn’t remember, before he was taken.

Before.

He’d never asked anyone else if they had the dreams, and he’d never remembered anyone specific.  He just remembered a village burning, and being taken away, and being very small.  Everything in the world, especially the stormtroopers, had been so very big…

“Hey, buddy.  Not hungry today?”  Poe spoke with a gentle friendliness in his voice, but his eyes were concerned.

He seemed so concerned for Finn sometimes.  It felt very strange, and he wasn’t sure how to tell Poe he was all right, he was almost completely well, even if he had scars now.  That it didn’t hurt much to move and he had almost full range of motion back again.

“Er, sorry, distracted.”  He dug in to the plate, trying not to think about how it tasted, to just get it down without portraying his unease with the strange meal.  

Poe seemed to like it, so it must be good.

To his surprise, the tastes and textures weren’t all strange to him, because of the hospital food.  Some of it even reminded him of the food he’d had back home--no, back at the First Order base, because that wasn’t home, of course it wasn’t.  

The white stuff, in particular, tasted like the rehydrated mashed potatoes, kind of.  It was sort of different in texture, and had less of a metallic taste, though.  He ate all of that, and forced himself to finish almost everything else, before reverting to an old trick of spreading his leftovers around to make it look like he’d eaten more than he had.

Poe cast him a quick grin, as if to say he saw what Finn was doing and it made him want to laugh.

Rey scraped back her chair, determination in her eyes.  “I’m going for dessert.  Anyone want some?”

“No,” said Finn, who was looking at Poe.

“No thanks,” said Poe, without taking his gaze off Finn.

Poe always seemed to smile when he looked at Finn.  It felt...good.  Weird, but good.  Even Rey didn’t always smile, unless there was something to smile _about_.  He and Rey worked on the same wavelength (except about machines).  If she was smiling, he probably was too.  

But Poe...Poe smiled just _because._ He just looked at Finn, and he _smiled_.

All his life, Finn had earned frowns, kicks, yells, and beatings for not being the right way, the right person--the right color.  

Nobody had ever just smiled because they looked at him, for no reason at all.  Nobody.  Sometimes it made him feel shivery and strange inside, like he was going to panic, because surely Poe had the wrong person; Finn wasn’t someone worth smiling over.

But other times, most of the times, he felt like a plant turning towards the sun, soaking in those smiles and feeling solid and real and human.

The group he had been in, the stormtroopers were all dark-skinned.  The men in charge (and it was always men, above a certain rank--Phasma had been the highest ranking woman he knew of) were almost always light-skinned.  There were a few people with different shades of skin tone in the different groups--in charge, or stormtroopers--but overall, the white people were in charge and the black people were cannon fodder.

Different places had different rules, even within the First Order, but where he grew up and trained, they were dark-skinned stormtroopers and light-skinned bosses.  With light hair and cold blue eyes and sneers, and somehow the ability to look down their noses even if they weren’t taller than the stormtroopers...

It was easier that way, they said, to keep them separate.  No stormtrooper could get out of their uniform and sneak around on the station and pretend they weren’t just a soldier.  Nobody could get above him or herself if they were really just a stormtrooper.

Sometimes, he still forgot.  He forgot that it wasn’t like that here, that he wasn’t less than anybody else because his skin was darker.  

Sometimes he caught himself thinking things, though.

Things like: _Rey has very light skin, so she’s ranked better than me._ Or: _my face is ugly because I’m so much darker than beautiful Poe…_

It was bad to remember, and know most of it had been wrong…

Maybe someday, he’d figure it all out.  Maybe someday he wouldn’t keep discovering things he’d gotten wrong, or never known.  

Maybe the universe would stop tilting on its head every time he finally adjusted.  That might be nice, to just settle, to understand, and not keep having things change.

_You are here for one purpose, to service the First Order.  You live by the First Order, you die by the First Order…_

The lectures and learning and practice and rough discipline, the hard beds and long hours, the food that was always the same or very similar...it was all for the purpose of making them strong.  

But he didn’t feel strong these days.  They’d have put him down, if he was injured this badly.  They’d have ended him, not tried to fix him.  He might have been mourned briefly by a few friends, but everyone knew not to show too much emotion unless they wanted their medication adjusted.

He’d seen that happen to a few people...the way they became like living machines, staring ahead, barely noticing anything, just following orders, except for when they couldn’t even do that…

He’d been afraid of that.  It was one thing that could cause him nightmares.

Fortunately, the First Order didn’t want clones, or machines.  That’s why they’d taken very small children--raiding an entire community of people at a time, to take all the children of around the same age and push them through their training together.  

They were trained, medicated, punished, trained, taught, and generally put through the crucible to become good soldiers for the First Order.  

But they needed to be able to think for themselves, on occasion, and there were tests for this, too.

People who scored too high or too low had been removed.  They didn’t find out what happened to them; nobody was allowed to ask, either.  

He had been careful to always score exactly average on anything he realized was a test.  Perhaps too well, as it earned him an exactly average job in sanitation.

Here, everyone seemed to be different, and it was amazing to him.  It also felt damned good not to be looked at like he was less than anyone else, because his skin was dark and he wasn’t in uniform, just here to listen like a machine, to carry a gun and not question orders, or to clean the toilets and garbage compactors.

But...there were no orders.  Except from medics, telling him to take his medicine and get some rest, telling him when and how to exercise.  These orders were strangely welcome.  At least they provided some structure, even when he grumbled about it.  But now that he could walk, he could move around the base all on his own, and nobody told him what to do.

He wasn’t well enough to have a regular job, a job helping the resistance, so he was just...here.

He could do whatever he wanted.  And sometimes, that scared the shit out of him.

Nobody hated him.  Nobody kicked at him or yelled at him or ordered him to do dangerous things.  It was a good change--a wonderful change--from his old life, but it also meant he felt like he was always waiting for the other shoe to drop, for something very, very bad to happen to make up for all the good things and wipe them out completely.  Something worse than hunger or hate or pain.  Something absolutely terrible.

There were times he wanted to go and find Poe and just hide behind him, put his head down on Poe’s shoulder and his arms around his waist until the world stopped seeming so huge and overwhelming.  Maybe have Poe put his arms around him, too.  That would make everything feel a little less dangerous and wrong, surely.

Finn was really a big fan of hugs.  He’d gotten more hugs in his life since running from the First Order than he had in all his previous approximately twenty years of life, at least the ones he remembered.

The contact was exactly the sort of thing his old boss would’ve had a conniption fit over, if she saw him giving or receiving affection in the form of an embrace.  Storm troopers were not like that; they could have friendships as long as they weren’t too pronounced, as long as they revolved around conversations or quick, rough encouragement with a pat on the arm.  You did not touch because it was nice; you didn’t touch to show affection and warmth and encouragement.

But now he could; now he revelled in it, if Rey gave him a hug, or, less often, if Poe did.

He didn’t understand why Poe didn’t hug him as much, because Rey was the one who was often grave and withdrawn and had stars in her eyes, a far-looking expression, like she saw things he didn’t see, could never see.  Poe, who looked at him and always smiled, Poe didn’t hug--not like he had during their first reunion.

Now Poe was careful, and sometimes, if he did touch Finn, it was the cautious sort of gentle touch that made him think of someone trying not to break a fragile bit of glass.  A brush of his sleeve, straightening it for him, a light tough on the shoulder to get his attention--but no rough, tight, warm embraces that were all creaking leather and scent of man and laughter and hard bodies together, like that one time…

He wanted Poe, with an ache he didn’t understand, to be like that with him again.  To be all over him, not just smiling or touching cautiously from a distance, afraid to hurt him.

He wanted something from Poe, even if he didn’t understand what it was.  It felt like it would never be enough, this restless, strange wanting: like whatever it was, Poe could never give him enough of it and he would never stop wanting it, never be fulfilled.  Even the smiles, the eyes that saw him, they only eased the aching want for a short time.  Even though they made him very happy--they didn’t make him stop aching for...whatever this _want_ was.

He didn’t have words for it.  He didn’t have an experience of what it might mean.  He just knew it made him happy and miserable both at once.

Finn wasn’t stupid.  He knew what sex was.  It was something stormtroopers didn’t get to have and weren’t allowed to want; there were pills for that.

He’d touched himself privately for pleasure or relief on occasion, in the shower or when he was supposed to be asleep.  It wasn’t something he’d wanted often, or very strongly.  The pills had taken care of most of it, he figured.  But he still knew; one of them had gotten a whole of a dirty holo once, and they’d all passed it around from curiosity and watched naked people, a man and a woman, doing loud and messy things with each other.  He’d felt a bit sick, watching, but at the same time, he’d wanted to _know_.

The man had been...he didn’t know the word.  He’d wanted to watch the man, but not particularly the woman.  It felt weird to him, not quite right...and very embarrassing.  

Of course he knew that real people who weren’t stormtroopers sometimes dated, got married or partnered up, and had children.  He would love to be able to do that: a daydream of pure sweetness, to be a real man with a child he would protect forever, and a partner who would always watch his back.

When he met Rey...so strong, so heartbreakingly sweet, so beautiful...that’s what he wanted with her.  To be the two of them against the world, and maybe have a baby someday too and keep it so safe no stormtroopers could ever take it away.  He would be a real man then, a real person, not a stormtrooper.  He would be a father.

Of course, that would probably mean having to have sex with Rey.  That thought made him feel a little sick.  He didn’t want to see her naked.  She looked great already with her clothes on.  And shoving part of himself into part of her...that just seemed messy and painful for everyone involved.  

Maybe they could adopt.  That counted, right?  He would love to adopt.  They could have a house together, and a baby, and he would figure everything out and know just what to do.  He’d have a job, and protect the baby with Rey, and they’d be happy together, wouldn’t they?

Except...somehow he could never picture Rey actually staying anywhere, with him or anyone else.  She had the stars in her eyes, his Rey.  He loved her, but he’d never try to hold her back.  She had big things to do.  

Maybe they could still adopt a baby, but maybe they couldn’t.  He was pretty sure if they did, she wouldn’t live with him all the time, though, and maybe that meant they wouldn’t actually count as boyfriend and girlfriend, or partners, or married.  

Han Solo and General Leia had had a baby together the regular way, and look how that had turned out.  They hadn’t stayed together, the baby had grown up to be someone bad, and...they still loved each other.

You could love people and not have the happy ending; he knew that, now.

Since he’d started getting better and better, more active and on less pain medication, he’d started to have more and more of those feelings he used to have that made him touch himself.  It was...weird.  Intense and good and strange and made him feel sweaty and guilty, too.  It was like, he felt like someone maybe had seen, and would tell on him, and then he’d be in big trouble.

It was agony to resist for too long, though.  And sometimes...sometimes he thought about Poe and his smile and his eyes and his hands, and...and the way he moved when he was happy and confident, that walk of his, and the way he looked…

It was strange to be thinking of Poe while he was doing that; it felt intrusive, and he was always ashamed afterwards.  Poe hadn’t asked for that.  Poe was his _friend_ , his dear and kind friend, the man who had rescued him and given him a name and loved him…

The man he thought about with strange and sweaty feelings, in the depths of night, ashamed that anyone might guess, and wondering what was wrong with him.

Maybe that’s what the pills were for.  So it hurt less, so you didn’t want things you couldn’t have.  

Sometimes, he almost wished they had those pills here.  At least then he wouldn’t have to think about it so much.

Except...it wasn’t even real.  Men didn’t do that, did they?  They didn’t want to do things with other men.  

He didn’t really know what it was he wanted, either.  He’d only ever heard the insult about sucking someone’s dick, and that did sound pretty disgusting and gross, since that wasn’t a very clean part of the body and well...it just sounded disgusting, that’s all.

At least if he’d wanted to do things with Rey, he’d have felt gross and sweaty, but he would’ve known it was a real thing that other people sometimes wanted.  Maybe even Rey wanted that, although he couldn’t imagine her writhing around and moaning and such.  Ew.

But...Poe.  Men didn’t do sweaty things with other men.  People didn’t even talk about it except as an insult, making it all sound really gross and disgusting.  He didn’t want to do anything disgusting or painful or gross, not to Poe!  He loved Poe!  He just…

He didn’t know what he wanted, exactly, but sometimes he thought, well, we wouldn’t have to do that; we could just touch each other.  That wouldn’t be gross, would it?  It might feel really good, someone else’s hand.  It might feel amazing…

But then he thought of Poe’s smiling, trusting, sweet face, the way he looked at Finn and saw a real person, not someone disgusting or strange.  And shame washed over him again.  Poe would hate Finn if he knew what he thought about sometimes.  Hate him so much…

_Oh, he must never hate me.  What would I do?  I wouldn’t even be real anymore if he hated me..._

Here he had been such a good friend, and Finn wanted...things.  He wanted to touch and see and feel and have Poe touch and see and feel, and really, he hadn’t known he was such a pervert.  It would’ve been better not to know.

But oh, when Poe smiled at him…

And when he wanted things a man couldn’t want...

Sometimes, it hurt so much to be a real man, and a worse man than he’d known he could be, even when he tried to make all the good choices.

But there were so many choices, and there was always something to get wrong.  Even something to _want_ wrong.

He couldn’t pick out his own food without help.

He couldn’t figure out what droids were saying, or understand any other languages than the one he’d been born with.  He didn’t know what the hell was going on half the time, and apparently he couldn’t even do sex-wanting right.

Finn was a real mess, and he knew it.

#

To get away from everything, and to understand it all better at the same time, he read as many digital books as he could, and watched as many holos as they’d give him.

He loved disappearing into a story, feeling like he was living inside someone else’s skin, and the amazing way it felt when they finally succeeded.  It felt like he’d won something, too.

At least he could read really well.  It was a shame to him, the way they first gave him such easy books, as though he could only read at a child’s level because he’d been a stormtrooper.  But his education had been thorough, and he could read at high-standard galactic levels, no problem.  And when he didn’t understand a word, he could very well look it up in the definition section, thanks.

It was here, in a book, that he found his first real clue.  Perhaps he should have found one earlier; perhaps it hadn’t been as hidden as he’d thought, or the sucking dick thing was actually nice, not nasty.

He found a reference to a man who wanted to be with another man.  True, the guy in question wasn’t very brave or strong, and he talked with a lisp, and was the butt of some jokes: but even in the adventure story written for strong, no-nonsense men who only liked women with heaving bosoms, they admitted it: this guy wanted one of the men in the adventure.  He wanted to _be with him_ .   _That way_.

And they all admitted that it was a real thing, that it was something some people wanted, even though most of them were rolling their eyes and laughing about it, and the man with the lisp died before he could actually do anything.  (It was that sort of story.)

It still shook Finn’s world.

If this was a real thing...well, perhaps he could learn to talk with a lisp.  

But maybe that part wasn’t necessary.

Maybe he could find some way to figure out if Poe could ever want the same thing, too.

#

Sometimes, Rey seemed so far away.  He understood she was sad, that she was grieving.  She had connected with Han Solo only to have him ripped away from her, killed by Kylo Ren, and she had no family to replace him.  

Maybe she would someday, but she had a lot to deal with.  Sometimes, he could lighten her spirits, but often he couldn’t.  Sometimes he felt like he wasn’t a very good friend.

But he determined never to bother her with his own petty issues, when she was dealing with so much more.

Yes, it was hard changing his life and becoming something more, unlearning so much and finding out new things every day, and it was very confusing with his feelings about Poe and life and what the future might hold, but he was doing pretty well overall, and she didn’t need more burdens to carry.

Every day, he saw the light in her eyes, the hope, dim a little more.  There were still stars there, but sometimes, they looked like dark stars.

She needed Luke Skywalker as much as any of them.  But they had only a part of the map, and further efforts to find it hadn’t done much so far.

Till then, she was stuck in limbo the way the rest of them were.  The galaxy was not in immediate danger: the First Order had retreated to lick its wounds, the Republic was scrambling to rebuild and grow stronger...and the pilots like Poe were training hard every day…

And Finn?  Finn was getting well.  He wondered what would happen to him on that final day when he didn’t need a hospital bed at all.

Sometimes, he had nightmares about that, too.

#

“Hey hotshot.”  Poe gave him a friendly little fist-thump on the arm, and one of those whole-world-filling grins of his.  “You doing pretty good, huh?”

“Yeah,” said Finn, reaching out to grip Poe’s shoulder, because he just couldn’t help himself.  He always wanted to touch Poe these days, especially since he knew he wasn’t the only one in the world who’d ever felt this way.

And Poe was so very pretty, who wouldn’t?

He’d been doing more research lately.  It was hard to know how, since the books in the library weren’t organized by “contains things about men who are attracted to men instead of women,” and he didn’t know the other words for any of it yet, if there were words besides “dick sucker,” which he didn’t like.

But he had been finding _clues_.

Apparently men who were attracted to men often lisped, or put a hand on their waist and tilted their hips, and they were particularly artistic.  

He could do that. He could do artistic.

_I think._

He would _find a way_ to become artistic.   

Maybe instead of sanitation work, he could take up ship upkeep; that would involve lots of priming and painting, and that was sort of artistic.  At any rate, there was paint and color involved.

“Well, since you’re doing so much better, want to go for a hike with me?  It wouldn’t have to be too long.  I’d like to show you some of the scenery around here.  Rey goes out all the time, and you seem a little...restless lately.”

“Does it show?”  He laughed.  It was so easy to laugh around Poe…  “Yeah, man, that sound great.”  He realized he should probably release Poe’s shoulder.  Maybe another five seconds…

They were looking at each other, staring at each other’s eyes.  Nothing else existed in the world…

“Ahem.”  Poe looked away first, clearing his throat.  “I could pack a lunch.  We could spend the afternoon sometime,” he said in a sort of husky voice.  

“Yeah, sounds great, man.”  He finally made himself release Poe.  Damn, if he’d embarrassed Poe, he’d never forgive himself.   _If I hurt him, or scare him off, or make him ashamed…_

He put one hand on his hip and tilted it slightly.  “That sounds great,” he repeated, not quite managing to lisp.  

It felt weird to stand like that, sort of off-balance.  His back gave a twinge, reminding him unpleasantly of this morning’s session of physical therapy.  There had been lots of bending and twisting--still sometimes agonizing, especially in long sessions.

Poe’s face showed immediate concern, and he moved closer into Finn’s space, his orbit, so to speak, one hand resting on his arm, another on his side.  “Hey, you okay?  You in pain?”

“I’m, uh, fine,” said Finn, dropping the awkward position immediately.  “Sorry, you were saying?”

Poe watched him for a moment, his face tense with concern, and Finn felt awful for scaring him.  Then he gave a shake of his head.  “Um, yeah.  Anything you particularly want to eat on the picnic?”

Finn froze, panic racing through him.  

Food choices--again!  And just when he’d been getting better at the cafeteria, now he didn’t even have things to choose from, he had to make it all up!  He searched his mind desperately for a picnic meal.  Something, anything…

Then he gave up and shrugged.  “Whatever you want.  I’m not picky.”

“Awesome.  So I’m up for teaching today, just taking some newbie pilots out on their training wheels, nothing special--nothing like flying an X-Wing.”  He smiled.  “But if you want, you could drop by and I’d take you for a quick spin with me, if you feel like flying a little.”

“Do I!”  Enthusiasm kept him from considering his response, and his grin was huge.  “I’d love that!  When?”

Poe told him the time, gave him a clap on the shoulder, carefully not on the back, called him “buddy” a couple more times, and finally tore his gaze and his smile away and walked off, with that confident sort of bounce in his steps that Finn admired so much.

It must be rubbing off on him, because he felt like he had a bounce in his steps, too.  He felt almost as if he could fly, without ever taking any pilot training at all: just walk right up into the sky from sheer happiness.

#

Poe was so _alive_ when he flew.  It made Finn feel more alive, too.  The way Poe whooped, and was in total control of the ship: the way he took such pleasure in it.  

One minute he could be a real professional, giving careful teaching advice to the pilots he was training, and the next he’d give Finn a sly wink, say, “Ready?” and when Finn answered, he’d do a quick barrel roll...

Finn loved every second in the air with him, strapped into his own seat, knowing he was perfectly safe with this amazing and beautiful man at the controls.

How could he be so beautiful?  And did Finn really think that, or was it another trick, another thing he’d gotten wrong and needed to unlearn?

If Finn hadn’t been his friend, hadn’t given him his name, hadn’t rescued him so many times in so many ways...would he still like him this much and think he was the most beautiful man in the whole entire universe?  

_If he had darker skin, would I still think that?_

Sometimes, he couldn’t get used to looking in the mirror and seeing his face.  Growing up in a world of white suits to hide behind, orders and angry words from men with pale faces and fierce pale eyes...men who looked at his skin and saw ugliness...sometimes he couldn’t get used to seeing who he was in the mirror.

He didn’t feel ugly inside.  He wished he didn’t look ugly sometimes in the mirror to himself.  Because this was who he had been born, the skin he was meant to be in, and it wasn’t ugly, there was nothing ugly about it...but sometimes he still saw it through the eyes of the people who had...not programmed him, he wasn’t a droid, but trained him, who had seen him as ugly and _less than_ and too dark-skinned.  It had made him see himself that way more than he liked, too.  Even when he fought against it, there was always an undercurrent of feeling ugly, till he remembered it wasn’t true, and he didn’t have to keep thinking like that.  

Sometimes he still felt it, though, and he hated that.  He wished he was paler, just a little paler, and he wished he didn’t see with First Order eyes, the way the world was made of colors and shades of skin tone giving value or taking it away, and…

“Hey, Finn, you okay back there?”  Poe’s voice was intimately close in the cockpit.  

He startled back to reality.  “Huh?  Oh, yeah, just thinking.”

“What about?”  He sounded...wistful?  Was that the word?  

He also sounded like he actually wanted to know.

_Could I say it?  Could I just tell him the truth without hesitating or weighing my words first or pretending it doesn’t matter and nothing’s wrong?_

He hadn’t been able to do that about the food.  Were feelings about his looks better or worse than food worries?  He couldn’t tell.

“You don’t have to,” said Poe, sounding almost...hurt.  “If you’re bored, I can take us down now and let you out.”

“No.  Um, I was thinking about other stuff,” he admitted quickly.  “Bad stuff, from the past.  I just...have a lot to unlearn, you know?”

“Like what?” said Poe, curiosity replacing reserve in his voice.

He bit his lip and looked out the window at the beautiful green landscape.  It was so precious and pure...and it filled him with fears of the unknown.  Because where was he meant to fit in this world of the Rebellion and not being a stormtrooper anymore?  Where would he end up, and would he ever find a way to belong anywhere in the galaxy?

“Like, that I’m ugly because I have dark skin and strong features,” he admitted.

“What?” explored Poe.  “That’s fucked up!  They actually taught you that?”

Finn stared at him in astonishment.  He hadn’t expected that outburst from his usually pretty chill friend.  “Poe…?”

Poe’s hands had tightened their grip on the controls, and he sounded really angry.  He just kept talking.

“You are...not bad looking at all, okay?  Whoever told you that...taught you that...they have a lot to answer for, okay?”  But he didn’t look at Finn as he said it, and his cheeks had taken on a distinctly embarrassed hue.

Now Finn began to feel embarrassed as well.  Apparently he shouldn’t have said anything.  He’d upset Finn.  But he answered as coolly as he could.

“Yeah, ‘cause compared to that, destroying villages and planets is nothing, right?”

Poe shook his head, but his mouth was tight.  They flew in silence.  He glanced at Finn finally, catching his eye, uncharacteristically serious for the moment, and not smiling at all.  “You are not ugly, okay?  You are _really_ not ugly.”

“Okay,” said Finn.  

He’d have agreed to anything under that fierce look from his friend.  He kept his hands in his lap, feeling useless and awkward.  He went back to looking out the window, and trying to forget such a thing as skin color existed in the universe.  

Maybe if everybody looked the same, nobody could hate anybody else.  Or maybe they’d just find something else to look down on each other for…

And that would mean having to give up how he looked, wouldn’t it?  That didn’t seem right.  His looks, his genetics, they were all he had left of a family he might never know anything about.  

“Finn,” said Poe, hesitantly.

He looked forward again.  “Yeah?”  He wondered if Poe was going to say something romantic.  He put that silly thought out of his head quickly.  Finn hadn’t even done anything artistic or managed to lisp yet, so Poe probably had no clue at all.  Putting his hand on his hip certainly hadn’t worked…

“You, um, you ever think about trying to find your family?  I mean, if anyone related to you is still alive?  It might be possible.”

“Really?”  He leaned forward, forgetting about everything else, feeling an impossible smile cross his face--the smile of hope he hadn’t dared ever have before in his life, not about that subject.  But if Poe said it could happen...then it could.  “You think so?”

“Yeah, well, with the Resistance's resources...I think we could probably find out something, and maybe track down living relatives.  Maybe even your parents.  No guarantees, of course, but I’ll...I’ll take you there, if we do, okay?  So you can see them again?  Maybe even go home, if you...if you want to leave.”

He leaned back again, nodding, no longer smiling.  “Yes.”  That must be where he belonged.  Not with Poe at all.  But…  “Yes, I’d love to find them.  But...maybe the resistance needs me.  I mean, I don’t know about moving back.  Maybe just visiting.  There’s no guarantee they’d want me to stay anyway.”

If they were alive.  He had his doubts, though he hoped Poe was right…  

He always wanted Poe to be right.  He believed in Poe more than anyone but Rey, and far more than he believed in himself.

“Yeah, no,” agreed Poe hastily.  “I think the resistance does need you.  Probably.  I do.”

“What?” said Finn, distracted, blinking at what he’d thought he heard.

“Um, nothing.”  Poe coughed.  “Hey, wanna see a loop-de-loop?  Hang onto your panties...”

Finn held onto his seat, and grinned till he felt like his face would fall off as Poe flew fancy loops, just for him.  It felt amazing--and they were so very alive.

#

Rey and Finn faced one another across the game of holochess.  They were both frowning.  It was so far a hard-fought game and taking a long time.  They were probably only halfway through and it had already been an hour.

Neither was budging.

“Just move, Finn,” said Rey through clenched teeth.

“Not till I find the right move.”  His hand moved towards the controls, then hesitated and withdrew.  His back ached something bad, but no way was he giving in.

They had learned the game on the same day, when one of the droids, that shiny one with one red arm, had explained the rules to them.  

Rey should not win just because he couldn’t take his time and find the right move...

“Sometimes there is no right move.”

He looked up, blinking at her.  “What?”

“You heard me.”  She straightened up now, her smile fiercer, her eyes a little wild.  “Sometimes, no matter what you do, you’re going to fail, and there’s no way to stop that.”  

He saw the glimmer in her eyes of unshed tears, and recognised, once again, the cause.  Han.  She missed Han.  There had been nothing she could do to save him.  Nothing...  

She gained control now and smiled at him more honestly, if still a little fiercely.  “You just have to make the best choice you can at the time.”

He kept staring at her, waiting for more words of wisdom.  This felt important, like something that had to do with more than chess.

Barely glancing at the board, she gestured to one of the players.  “There.  Move there.”

“Where?  Oh.  Oh!”  He made the move, quickly, before she took back the free advice.  One of his players moved forward and clobbered one of hers.

She crouched over the board, ready to find the next move she should make, giving it her all.

She was willing to help him rather than wait any longer.  And she hadn’t cheated; it was a good move.  That was Rey, though.

Impatient, kind, fierce, and honest.  

Too honest, sometimes.

Yesterday she’d said something that made him feel a shiver of fear and...hope?  Both hope and fear, about Poe.  If she had guessed, if that’s what the comment meant…

_“It’s okay to notice what you like, Finn,” she’d said softly.  “You’re allowed to be whoever you are, even if you don’t know who that is yet.”_

It was sound advice...for anything in life...if only she hadn’t said it as he was wistfully watching Poe walk away: the sway of his hips, the strength of his shoulders, the curl of his soft-looking hair…

He gulped at the memory.  Maybe it hadn’t meant _that_ at all.  Maybe he wasn’t so see-through anyone could tell how Poe mesmerized him without even trying...

“Finn!” exclaimed Rey again, exasperation clear in her voice.  She put her hands on her hips and glared at him.  “It’s.  Your.  Move.”

Wait.  If she tilted her hips...did that mean she…?   _I’m so confused right now._

“Uh.”  He dragged his attention back to the board, decided on a move, and--there.  His player went for it.

“Ahah!”  She pounced, making a return move that obliterated his king.  “Game over!  Maybe next time you’ll pay attention.  I’m not a wookie--you don’t need to let me win!”  She got up and moved away at a fast clip.

More and more lately, she seemed extremely restless.  She’d been doing lots of repairs around the place, tackling tasks others said were nigh impossible.  Rey was good with machines, and everything else…

They said she was good with the force, too, but she needed someone to train her who wouldn’t mess it up.

General Organa had been trying to help, but just with simple control exercises: breathing, concentration, meditating.  She didn’t have much force training herself and could only offer simple help.

Until they found Luke Skywalker, what could anyone do?

Rey had too much power to remain safely untrained, but there was no one with the skill to help her...no one perhaps aside from some evil wannabe Sith Lord types who would be glad to have her on their side.

With her growing frustration, restlessness, and rage about losing Han, she had a lot of things they could prey on.  There was so much goodness and sweetness in her, though, such caring and honesty, such dedication...she would never turn to the dark side.  

He would believe it of nearly anyone else in the galaxy first.

But there was no denying she was a tempting target for those working on the Dark Side.  She had so much power, even if she didn’t always understand how to access it.

He watched his friend walk away with a feeling of chagrin and pity.  How could she think he’d let her win?  Her skill and impatience were just another symptom of how much she underestimated herself.  

Yes, they’d learned at the same time, this afternoon: but he was still trying to remember which way the pieces moved.  He didn’t have to let her win; she was already good at it.  The way she was at everything.

_I bet if she liked Poe in the sweaty way, she’d be able to tell him and have it make sense._

Then he quickly tried to banish that thought from his mind.  He didn’t want to think about Rey naked!  Ew!  Rey was his friend, but...he liked her with her clothing _on_ , thanks.

#

“How far are we going?”

Finn looked around with increasing discomfort at the thick forests.  He wasn’t comfortable here: it reminded him of the lightsaber battle, in the gloomy and dark forest, so dangerous and deadly.  He remember the slashes of power, trees toppling, pain and rage and then nothing.  He shuddered.

Poe stopped walking and looked at him quickly, concern on his face.  “Finn?  You okay, buddy?  You in pain?”

“Not…”  He wrapped his arms around himself, shook his head.  “No.”

It wasn’t pain, to remember things, bad things.  Was it?  If so, then he was in a lot of pain a lot of the time, but...pain was something you felt in the body.  Something they used to teach you, to make you remember, something that happened when you got damaged.  It wasn’t in your head, not even in the ache of your chest when you wanted to cry but couldn’t, wouldn’t…

“Finn!”  Poe ran back to him, alarm on his face, dropping the picnic blanket and basket both and springing to him, hands landing to rest on Finn’s arms as Poe searched his face earnestly.  “You’re not okay, are you?  What’s the matter?”

His touch felt good: warm, alive.   _Real_.

“I don’t…”  He was...his teeth were chattering.  

 _What?  I’m not even cold!_  

He shook his head, trying to clear it.  The whir of lightsabers sounded too real; the gash of pain in his shoulder, the sinking knowledge that it was too late, he could never defeat this evil horrible opponent, that he was going to die, to lose, that Rey, his dear Rey, had already died…

“I don’t…”

“Finn.  What’s wrong?  Hey, buddy.  Take your time.”  He sank slowly to the ground with Finn, the two of them ending up in a kind of crouch on the heavily-ferned forest floor.  It smelled good: clean.

He focused on breathing, on the feel of Poe’s arms around him, holding him secure.  He waited for the black spots to clear before his vision, for the light to come back.  It had to come back: nothing was sucking up the sun here.

“Here, buddy.  Here, it’s okay.  You just relax.”  Poe’s hand on the back of his head and neck, massaging, gently pulling him to rest his forehead against Poe’s shoulder, it felt so good...so right.

His gulps and gasps became ragged breaths, became deep breaths, became even breathing.  He was still shivering, couldn’t seem to stop that, but he held onto Poe shamelessly, and he was no longer seeing...that.  

Fear still raced through his system, made him stink with slick, awful sweat, but he didn’t care, he couldn’t think about that.  Poe was holding him.  Poe was hugging him (finally, again).  It felt so good, so safe, as good as he’d thought it would, resting his head against this strong, safe, good shoulder, the best shoulder in the world.

_I love you.  I love you, Poe.  Please don’t hate me when you find out what that means to me…_

He felt tears well in his eyes.  Here Poe was being such a good friend to him, and he was thinking those kind of thoughts again.  Had he no decency?

He wished Poe would bring his face closer and…  He shuddered again, closing his eyes, trying to drive away the shameful thoughts, trying to hide from this _want_.

“You’re okay, buddy.”

_Buddy.  But I’m not your buddy.  At least, not just your buddy._

He clung to Poe’s shirt, trying not to groan.  It was so...so dishonest to feel this way, this hopeless wanting and hiding need and strange wistful hunger.  

_Rey would never act like this.  She would be brave and true...like always._

“Just take deep breaths.  That’s good.  We’re getting there.”

He was so kind, so comforting.  And Finn realized for the first time...he was rubbing Finn’s back.  Right over the scar, where he’d been so afraid to touch or even get near for so long.

“I’m...I’m doing better,” he said, making some small effort to straighten up and pull away.  “You can...let go, if you want.”

“What if I don’t want, huh?”  His voice was gruff.

Finn looked up, blinking in surprise.  Their faces were very close.  

Poe had tears in his eyes.  Tears.  “I came so close to losing you, buddy.”  

Then he...reached for Finn’s face, like he was something so very precious and...pulled him closer...and pushed his own lips to Finn’s.  

Finn was stunned into freezing.  It felt nice, but he had never expected it would happen at all.  

That was a kiss.  That was his first kiss--maybe his only kiss--and he’d missed it by freezing.

Still nice, though.  And from Poe, which made it nicer than anything else could’ve.  

_Poe kissed me._

After a moment, Poe drew back, and turned away, wiping his eyes with the back of one sleeve.  “Sorry,” he said in muffled kind of voice.  “Sorry.  I should’ve--”  He cleared his throat loudly.  “I’ll just…”

He stumbled almost blindly to his feet, looking around, probably for the picnic basket or any excuse not to look at Finn.

Finn sat up.  “Hey, no, that was great.  Thank you.  Come on, come back, man.  Tell me what’s going on?”

“I--I kissed you,” said Poe, his shoulders kind of hunched, as he dared to look back at Finn.  His expression mixed naughtiness, chagrin, hope, and fear.  And something more.  Something that felt pleasantly like want.

Poe wanted Finn.

Poe _wanted_ him--maybe.

Poe licked his lips nervously.  “I get impatient.  I rush things.  Everybody always tells me I should slow down.”  He kicked lightly at a clump of ferns, then headed back, looking at Finn closely, less consternated now, a small grin finding its way onto his face.  “But you didn’t totally hate it, huh?”

“No, I didn’t totally hate it.”  Finn felt as if he would never stop smiling now.  As if he would smile until his face broke.  

He leaned back, and smiled up at the sunshine of his world--Poe Dameron.  Even if they were in a forest that was a bit dark, even if his back was sore and he was tired from walking and sometimes, remembering things did hurt--even though he didn’t know who his family was, or if he’d ever find them again, or where he belonged in this world or what it meant that he liked Poe and not Rey in _that way_.

None of that mattered just now, because Poe had kissed him, Poe had kissed him, and everything, absolutely every single thing, was right with the world.

_Next time, maybe I’ll even manage to kiss him back!_

Poe was full-on grinning now, his eyes taking on a new life, a lively dark joy, wild and renewed, like moonglow.

He came to crouch beside Finn, and held out a hand to him.  “You liked that, huh?”

“Yeah,” admitted Finn, his voice husky, his smile shy.  They were staring at each other again, the way that made everything else disappear.

He took Poe’s hand, and let the other man help pull him to his feet, rejoicing in the feel of his strength, his sturdiness.  Poe was a man you could lean on, a man who would not bend or break when you needed him to be strong.

“Maybe we can do it again sometime, huh?” said Poe.

“Yeah.  I’d like that.”  His voice was still husky, his grin was shy but huge, and he’d just realized something.  When Poe said he wasn’t ugly, that he wasn’t talking hypothetically.  He actually meant...that _he_ thought Finn didn’t look unattractive.  

He meant that Finn looked...good.   _Kissable._

They were still holding hands.  He was on his feet, but they were still holding hands and looking into each other’s eyes in a mesmerized way.

“You ready for that picnic?” said Poe, kind of distractedly.  He was watching Finn’s mouth.

Finn wondered what he saw: full lips, dark skin...kissable face.  Someone he wanted to kiss again, and soon by the looks of it.

“Can we, um, find somewhere with fewer trees?”  It was easier to be honest about what he wanted now.

“Sure.  Not a fan of trees?”

He shook his head.  He didn’t release Poe’s hand, and Poe kept hold of it, helping him over a fallen log very warmly.  “Okay.  Let’s head back and find somewhere more open, then.  But I’ve gotta find the basket first.  Oh.  Looks like I dropped the sandwiches.  Sorry, man.  Might have to go back and get more.  They’ve already got ants in them.  Shit, the ants here are outrageous.  I don’t think I’ve ever seen ants this big anywhere but here.  Some places, wasps aren’t this big!”

“Tell me more,” said Finn.  He was looking at Poe, not the sandwiches that were currently being devoured by oversized insects.

“Uh...that’s all I know about insects.  Ships, now--I can tell you a lot about ships.”

Finn licked his lips.  “I think I’d like to try again.”

“What?”  He gave Finn a startled, slightly worried look.  “Man, I do not want to fight those ants--”

“No, I mean, kissing.”  And, with a confidence he didn’t quite feel, he pulled Poe closer, still holding his hand.

Poe came right up to him, meeting him eagerly, pressing their mouths together again.   _Mm_.  He was ready for it this time, and enjoyed it even more.  Poe had soft, warm lips, slightly damp.  They pressed firmly against his own and it felt really good, especially when their arms went around each other in an even better, if gentler, hug than that first one.

It wasn’t long, but they stayed close after, Poe leaning against him, resting some of his weight against Finn, like he trusted him not to fall down.  They weren’t letting go of each other, and that felt really good.  He could hug Poe forever...

A bird flew overhead with a loud caw that startled them both, making them draw back and look up, alarmed.  But it was just a bird, and not some kind of First Order attack.  

Poe gave a nervous chuckle and reached for him again, cuffing his arm lightly, then giving it a squeeze.  He seemed to want to keep touching Finn, as if he couldn’t get enough.

That was okay by Finn: he had a hunger greater than Rey’s hunger for food, when it came to touching.  He had a whole lifetime to catch up on.  He mirrored the gesture, since it was obviously okay or Poe wouldn’t be doing it.  

Gripping his arm felt good: Poe was warm, sturdy, and his leather jacket creaked comfortably under Finn’s hand.  

They were looking at each other again, looking in a way that made the surroundings sort of disappear.  Finn was starting to really like these long looks, especially since this was what they meant...kissing, hugging, touching…   _Mmm._

“Hey, uh, you ever have a boyfriend before?” asked Poe, in a low sort of nervous voice, his cheeks looking redder than they had a minute ago.

“Um, no.”   _Have you?_  He couldn’t ask, couldn’t.

“Maybe you’ll think about me for the job, huh?”  He said it with a little wink.  His smile was sweet and hopeful.

_Let’s see, you saved my life, gave me a name and an identity, you smile every time you look at me…and kissing you is very nice.  I think you’re qualified, man.  Overqualified._

“Okay,” he said simply, because it was hard to find any words at all, even though he had so many inside him right now.  He gave Poe’s hand a tighter squeeze.  

Poe squeezed back, hard.  But he couldn’t seem to look at Finn at this precise moment.

“Thanks...  Man, I’m not even going to try to save the basket.  Those things look deadly.  I think I hear them splintering the wood already with their...teeth?  Do ants have teeth?”

“Pincers?” guessed Finn, somewhat at random.  It felt very nice holding Poe’s hand.  Hard to concentrate on anything else, though.

“Yeah.  That sounds right.  Pincers, I bet they’re lethal.  Come on.  Hey, I ever tell you about the time I flew three consecutive shifts without a break?  It was intense, let me tell you, but I had to cover for a friend, and then Rige bet me I couldn’t go again without sleep, and, well, long story short I did great but the people in charge had a total conniption, man, and I’m banned from more than one shift at a time now, because apparently I’m a hotshot.”

“You are,” Finn assured him.  “A total hotshot.”

Poe cast him a quick, embarrassed grin.  “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” said Finn regally, giving his hand another squeeze.  This hand holding thing...even when nobody was running for their lives...he could get used to it.  

Still holding hands, and making random small talk, they abandoned the lunch to the forest swarm and headed back to civilization.  The feel of Poe’s lips lingered on Finn’s, a friendly memory, tingling.  

This was a good day, a very good day indeed.

_I have a hot boyfriend.  He kissed me.  And I love him._

Everything else, they could figure out together.  He was almost completely certain of it.

 

The end

 


End file.
